This mannequin won't leave me alone, I swear to God. Every day I walk past her on my way to Sixth Avenue to get a coffee or an Atkins bar or an apple or a hit of acid, and there she is, dressed in her sexy skivvies 'n chains 'n leather wristband thingies, giving me that come hither look. As if. Come on, mannequin, you've been around the block. Surely you know you are barking up the wrong tree. I don't even like wristbands! And how do you stand like that in that position day after day after day? It's not natural, mannequin, to put your arms and hands in that position for long stretches of time. Who taught you to do that, Anna Wintour? Give yourself a break and sit down for a while or something.
In conclusion, while I admire your confidence and your swagger and your dead, dead eyes, you've got to just give it up and start focusing on those who will be more receptive to your message. Because let's face it, unless you've got a hot gay surfer friend behind that curtain, I'm just not interested, okay?
Wait, you do? And his name is Chad? Hold on, let me put my wristband on.
1 comment:
you are hilarious! I so enjoy your blog...does this make me your 3rd viewer??
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